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Shallows

You never know the dangers below the surface until you jump.

By Paz H.Published 2 years ago 8 min read
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I'd been afraid of the water since I could remember—wanted to remember. Or rather, since that day. But the fear had always been there, perhaps hiding in the shallows, waiting to arise.

My name is Iris, like the flower. I used to love swimming; it was my favorite thing in the entire world. I swam where I saw water, jumping in without thinking.

That was stupid. It was a mistake.

I ruined everything.

2:30 p.m., July 10, 1999 — the day it happened

"Take me hooome, country roooad; take me hoome, country rooad," everyone sang along with the blasting radio as we zoomed past mounts of trees and rivers.

Our family and the Trents had gone on yearly road trips together every summer since I could walk. They were like family: Mike, Brenda, Max, and my best friend, Holly. We'd never gone a summer without them. Never would.

That was back then, though.

"Pass me a juice box," Dad called from the driver's seat, reaching back his open palm.

I grabbed a juice box from a bag sprawled out on the floor and placed it in his hand.

"Thanks, kiddo," he said, smiling at me from the rearview mirror.

"Oh my god! Iris! Come look at this NOW!" Holly's face was practically plastered against the car window as I quickly joined her. It didn't take long for me to notice what Holly was talking about.

Beyond a thin thick of trees, you could see a gorgeous, glittering river running through the whole forest.

"Wow," I awed, looking from the water to the nature surrounding it. But mostly the water, its magnificent, aqua-colored body just begging for me to swim in it.

"Dad," I said, "pleeease can we go there? Pleease?"

Dad looked out the window and thought for a moment, then turned to Mom, Mike, and Brenda in question. They all either shrugged or nodded, stifling laughs or sighing.

"Alright," Dad said, chuckling amid Holly and my squeals of excitement. "Hold on, hold on. I mean tomorrow. First things first is settling into the cabin."

Holly and I groaned, sitting back against the seats in disappointment. Max was in his car-seat drooling and whatnot, completely oblivious to the wonders we were passing.

My face lit up as an idea came to me, and I looked at Holly. She stared back at me quizzically, mouthing what and glancing at the parents for a moment to make sure they weren't paying attention. She practically already knew what I was planning.

"Tonight we should sneak out to the river," I whispered in her ear, snickering.

"But it'll be dark," she whispered back.

"So?"

"So it could be dangerous... Right?"

"No, of course not," I said confidently. "We'll just bring a flashlight, okay? It'll be fine."

Holly looked unsure. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Holly. One-hundred percent." I rolled my eyes at her like she was stupid.

She wasn't. I was.

For a moment she thought, but eventually sighed. "Fine."

I squealed quietly, watching Holly untense and her expression brighten as I convinced the idea on her.

It was maybe one of the last bright things I've ever seen.

7:45 p.m., July 10, 1999 — that evening

"Smores! Smores! Smores! Smores!" Holly, Max, and I chanted in unison as Dad and Mike set up a fire. The darkness around us made the woods look luminous to the average person, but all I could see was the river running calmly through the night. It was almost screaming for me to swim in it—

"Alright, kids. Smores time!" Dad and Mike grabbed a few thin branches, piling them up to the side. Marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers sat on a tray awaiting us. "Pick a stick and marshmallow, and get cookin'!"

Everyone cheered, even Mom and Brenda, who sat in their beach chairs relaxing and talking by the fire.

"Look at the river," I whispered to Holly, who stuck her marshmallow into a flame to make it cook faster.

"Cool," she said, preoccupied, obviously having ignored me.

I rolled my eyes, nudging her in the side. "No, I mean actually look at it."

She sighed, pulling her eyes from her burning marshmallow for a second. "What?"

"Let's go out to the river tonight, when everyone's asleep," I said confidently like it was the greatest idea in the world.

Stupid, stupid, stupid me.

"This again?" is all she said, rolling her eyes and focusing back on her practically disintegrated marshmallow. She pulled it out of the fire, looked at it, and made a face.

"C'mon, it would be so much fun!"

"Yeah, if you were crazy," she muttered under her breath.

I groaned in annoyance, following her to the tray of ingredients where she began stacking her smore. "C'monnnn, pleeease? I thought you were on board."

Holly rolled her eyes. "What's your 'plan' exactly?"

Yes. This right here was one of three ways you knew Holly Trent was on board with a plan. First, "what's the plan?" Second, "Why is this a good idea again?" And third, "oh my god, fine" or something along those lines.

I smiled triumphantly. "So, I was thinking when the adults are asleep, we grab our bathing suits and flashlights and just go for a swim." I waited a second, letting Holly think. She was a thinker. A good one, actually. Before she made one very bad decision. "Whattya say?"

Holly stared at me a second, looked over to the river in the distance behind me, and stifled a laugh, shaking her head in defeat. "Fine."

1:00 a.m., July 10, 1999 — it happened

"Hurry!" I whisper-yelled to Holly, who was moving particularly slowly for sneaking out.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Holly jumped over a fallen tree, almost tripping over a jutted-out rock.

Our flashlights waved around in the dark as we snuck through the trees and bushes, reaching the river just as the moon peaked. The water glittered in the moonlight, even prettier than it was in the day.

"Wow," I awed.

Holly nodded in agreement, looking out into the distance. "Oh my god, look! There's a rope swing!"

Our eyes snapped over to a worn-looking rope a few feet away, hanging by a sturdy tree branch. Or at least what looked to be a sturdy tree branch.

"We have to jump in from the rope swing," I said. "We have to. It's unresistible."

At this point, Holly was just as siked as I was, jumping and squealing. "I call going in first!"

I raced her to the rope swing, laughing and smiling more than I probably ever had.

I miss all that laughing and smiling. I miss doing it with her.

"Is it safe enough, you think?" Holly asked, pulling on the rope a few times to make sure.

I shrugged. "I mean, yeah, probably."

Holly made a face. "What if it's not, though?"

I rolled my eyes and laughed, stepping forward. "I mean, if you're not going, then—"

"No, I'm going," she said confidently, standing taller and more determined. "I can do this." She took a few deep breathes, gripping the rope. "Hold my flashlight."

I took the flashlight, cheering her on and waving the flashlights around for extra effect. "Do it! Do it!"

"Here goes nothing," she called excitedly, looking over at me for a second, a big smile on her face. "See you on the other side!"

She jumped off the ground, flying outwards with the rope. I was jumping and laughing, but then—

BUT THEN—

"HOLLY!" I screamed in pure terror, watching the rope snap in half, sending her down, down down—

She shrieked, pure fear written on her face as she fell in, spinning, falling, down, down, down—

I screamed so loud, like I was watching someone die, which I hoped wasn't the case—

I jumped in without a second thought, losing the flashlights on my way down, screaming, screaming—

I crashed down into the water, my foot scratching against a hard rock, and I froze. It was a rocky bottom, a shallow bottom—

It wasn't safe, it wasn't—

I crashed through the surface, gasping and thrashing, trying to look around for Holly who should've surely come up for air—

"Holly!" My voice cracked mid-shriek, and I coughed on water washing onto my face, blinding me—

I swam, trashed, my way over to where I think she'd fallen, but I couldn't see anything. Nothing at all.

"HOLLY!" I was crying, I realized, as I looked around in the darkness. I shouldn't have let go of the flashlights; I should've held on tighter—

I tried swimming down, feeling for anything at the bottom, hoping she was there—

She wasn't there.

"Holly, where are you?" I yelled into the open darkness, hoping—praying—she could hear me. "HOLLY, PLEASE!"

I couldn't find her, couldn't see her.

"Holly..." I whispered, my voice giving up on me as waterfalls of tears swept down my face like the river water.

I didn't want to think it; I didn't want to give up yet—

She was gone.

Short Story
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About the Creator

Paz H.

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